“I—I—yes, indeed, Aunt Lucia—you must want a bite of something, I’m sure, driving so far.”
Peter writhed miserably in Aunt Lucia’s crape-and-jet arms.
“Not till I have seen her, Peter. Afterwards I shouldn’t mind. I have brought such a beautiful address by Bishop Hunter. It was delivered on the occasion of the death of Governor ———-, unless I forgot to put it in with my knitted shawl. I believe I did. I will send for it directly. When my dear husband—he was so fond of Clarice—died, I read it more than anything else, except the Prayer-book, of course. You will surely find it a help.”
“Yes, Aunt Lucia. Your room is ready, and—”
“Not till I have seen her, Peter.”
“Susy is there now, and Miss Strong says nobody else this evening. Tomorrow—”
Aunt Lucia drew away.
“Do I understand that Susy Wylie—no relation at all—is preferred before the only mother Clarice has had for all these years?”
Peter winced. “But you weren’t here, Aunt Lucia,” he argued wearily.
“Who is Miss Strong?”